West Clare, August (revision)

[dedalus]

The wind, rippling across unruly fields,

is chill, not warm, on this summer night,

and it runs in a rush down the narrow road

between tangled bushes of unripe berries.

A tall shape appears, dark from the darkness,

a bicycle of the sturdy kind, its dim light dancing,

of a type much admired by bachelor farmers.

A song, a sweet tenor, separates from the air,

and the clear heart-breaking song of youth

arises: it is the thrush-like throat of Dinny Joe,

who was all of eighty-four when the sister died,

his housekeeper, last year or the year before?

I retreat without words into silent shadows

for I would not for the world interrupt him

as he cycles into darkness, legend and death.

Edited May 24, 2013 by Tinker

[tonyv]

Magical, otherworldly. I love this one, Brendan, the whole thing. But these parts:

 

The wind that shakes the fields of grain

is chill, not warm, on summer nights,

and it runs in a rush down the narrow road

between tangled bushes of unripe berries.

A tall shape appears, dark from the darkness,

a bicycle of the sturdy kind, its dim light dancing,

a type much adored by bachelor farmers.

A song, a sweet tenor, separates from the air ...

 

... the thrush-like throat of Dinny Joe

... they really take me there.

 

Tony

[Tinker]

WOW! I love the face, so much to be seen there and this poem captures much of it beautifully. I hope you don't mind but I linked to this poem from the glossary word ekphrastic. It is a perfect example of the genre.

 

Out of curiosity, I would love to know if you actually knew this character or if you conjured the details just from looking at the painting. Of course it isn't important to the poem, it stands tall whether based on fact or imagination.

 

~~Tink

[douglas]

a wonderful poem - full of amazing images and moods and mystery! very captivating - loved it!